Deep in the heart of Texas, directions that can be taken quite literally, as it is stationed three hundred feet underground, is the headquarters of Homo Maximus. The top secret research facility is where America and the people who struggle to ride herd over it have been working on creating super soldiers since the end of the Second World War. As of today, there have been only two “graduates” from the program, which may appear to be an atrociously poor success rate, until one considers that it is run by the government.
Recently one of the successes experienced what can only be described as a setback that, if not corrected, would cripple the country’s ability to respond to national security crises. Combining this with the realization that Homo Maximus could lose whatever credibility it had left with the government compelled its directors to find answers to the subject’s problem.
“How do you feel, Mr. Epitome?” Dr. Monroe asked after the Man of Might had completed his monitored workout in the gargantuan training chamber. The room was dominated by machines the size of battleship engines, each designed to test Epitome’s strength, speed, and stamina.
The young man with the wavy chestnut hair finished toweling the sweat from the back of his neck before answering the question for the tenth time in ten days, “Good.”
“Perhaps you could elaborate for us.”
“Sure,” Dominic Clancy peeled off his jersey and began dabbing his pits, “I feel like I would back when I was playing football, and I had juked past a blocker and charged the quarterback. Everything’s slow and clear; focused. I can see the “Oh, crap” look on the QB’s face and it doesn’t even register when I hit him. Not to me at least. Him, well, he leaves his feet and goes all limp and I can see the ball’s about to pop out of his hands so not only are we getting a sack but a fumble too and I know there’s no one between me and the ball and the other team’s goal. Multiply that rush by about a million and that’s how I feel pretty much always.”
“So, good is an understatement?” Dr. Ochoa, Dr. Monroe’s assistant noted.
Dominic grinned, “I suppose so.”
“You, ah, quantified your condition,” Dr. Monroe went on, “When don’t you feel you’re operating at peak capacity?”
“Well, those artillery rounds sting a bit. And I get headaches sometimes during the vision and hearing tests, as you know.”
Monroe nodded. This correlated with the results that showed Epitome’s senses were nowhere near the levels prior to his transformation. It appeared he needed to concentrate to make observations that before were instinctive to him.
“This is what I think, Dominic. While the tests show there has been no decline in your physical abilities, your brain has suffered considerable regression. Its abilities to gather, process and retain information are a fraction of what it once was.”
“So it’s as if I were brain damaged?” the tall man dropped down in his chair, joining the scientists in their semi-circle.
“You MRI is remarkably similar to person suffering from severe head trauma, yes,” Dr. Ochoa agreed.
“Of course, given what levels you were functioning at before the regression, we’re not describing anything to debilitative,” Dr. Kiper, the project director, said in encouragement, “It’s like comparing the memory of a computer that was cutting edge in 1991 to one produced today.”
“OK: me and my punch card brain have a question: is my memory loss caused by the brain damage, or the other way around?”
“We still don’t know. We can’t even explain why your physiology has been altered.”
“Though there is some speculation that the MacGuffin energies that give you your powers are responding to your loss of recall by reversing the aging process. The power that normally heals you from injury has now restored your youth in an attempt to fix the discrepancy between what your brain believes your physiology should be and what the passage of time made it,” Dr. Ochoa commented.
Dr. Monroe gave his protégé a hard stare, “That’s mere conjecture at this point, however, and hasn’t really been supported by any hard data.”
“Yet.”
“Gentlemen, Mr. Epitome doesn’t need to hear our half-formed hypotheses,” Dr. Kiper chided, “Why don’t we let him go and shower, so he can hit the archives.”
Dominic nodded, but more in recognition of the suggestion than agreement, “Actually, Dr. Kiper, I was thinking I might spend some time with Glory to try and figure out exactly what she’s saying.”
“Well,” Kiper fidgeted in his chair, “Glory isn’t on site, currently.”
“Oh?” Epitome concentrated until he could pick up traces of conversation in the Homo Maximus Situation Room. The chatter and the live feed to the Wolf News Channel filled him in on where she was.
“You sent her after Guy Trebellino,” Dominic said flatly, “Her, not me.”
“You still haven’t been cleared for work in the field yet, Mr. Epitome,” Dr. Monroe pointed out.
“You sent the Superdog, but not the Superman,” Dominic went to where his costume was hanging.
“Glory is quite capable an operative. Really, its best for everyone involved if you stay put,” Kiper tried to sound like this was the final say in the matter.
The Paragon of Power began to suit up, “I’m going. Call me speciest, but I believe it’s better to have someone with opposable thumbs stop the tornado controlling terrorist.”
After he strode out Dr. Kiper looked to Dr. Monroe, “He’s… different, wouldn’t you say?”
Monroe nodded, “I want to know where he heard the word ‘speciest.’ It’s not as if the topic of non-human rights was big in 1991.”
“They did a special on Robo Americans last night on The Spahnish Inquisition. Epitome probably got it from there,” Dr. Ochoa answered.
Kiper stood, “Put together a field team to go after him and observe. Edgar, that’s you,” he informed Dr. Monroe, “Michael, you look at the readings from today’s workout. And… cross reference Epitome’s testosterone levels with both the MacGuffin Surge Index and his synaptic scans. I want to see if there is any more evidence of cognitive deterioration,” he sighed, “This could be a problem, gentlemen. I’m going to have to call Washington.”
In addition to a few other people, the agent of the Grey Eminence thought to himself.
Next: Mr. Epitome and Glory take on Guy Trebellino, the master of winds. But what’s his beef with the great state of Texas? Learn this and probably nothing else in “The Prince of the Power of the Heir,” out soon.
Footnotes:
The Incredible Secret Origin of Mr. Epitome: Dominic Clancy was a rookie FBI agent who fifteen years ago volunteered for a top secret program developed by Homo Maximus, the Super Soldier making agency. Their latest effort was to subject candidates to the energies of a strange extradimensional material discovered by and named for its creator, Dr. Avi MacGuffin. Clancy was chosen to be the first recipient of the power, and was place into the machine known as The Divine Spark. The process worked, though after the spark was powered up the MacGuffin Material vanished. It would reappear several years later, allowing Homo Maximus to subject a young Border collie named Glory to the same treatment before it disappeared again.
The Grey Eminence: is the alias of Aldrich Grey, the nearly hundred year old power broker who secretly tries to control the American government and economy. His ultimate goal is the expansion of free trade and democratic values throughout the planet, with the United States benefiting the most from these changes. Grey has had to work with some unsavory characters to keep his operation running, but up until now could always use the threat of Mr. Epitome to keep them somewhat in line.
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